Pitch's Lament
by DukeofRennington
Summary: As his power in this world fades, Pitch finds himself hovering on the edge of nonexistence, and the ones who banished him may just be the only ones who can help. Namely, the mischievous prince of winter, Jack Frost. (A romance story; Pitch X Jack) (Warning: male x male love/mature content in later chapters)
1. Part 1, Pitch's Lament

**Okay people, this is un-Beta'd (Since I lack a Beta reader!) But it is edited and prettied up to the best of my abilities. Expect a few errors, and please leave feedback! It is wholly appreciated, and I will be updating once a certain quota of reviews has been met for each entry! **

**Warning: This story will contain male x male love and the occasional…w ell, sex. If you don't like fan pairings, boy love, or whatever, don't read it! Plain and simple. Otherwise, I love you, and please enjoy the story!**

There wasn't much to him really that could be considered good. Nor was there much that could be considered evil.

In a world where you fade into nonexistence if your powers aren't utilized, who could blame him? Who could really say that the boogeyman was truly bad?

Some could argue that he was born as the incarnation of evil itself. That none could hide in the shadows as he does, emerging to instill dread and terror and not be dubbed evil.

Who really has the right to condemn a soul, be it one that shifts the darkness of the world or be it one who casts light upon the gloom?

**Pitch's Lament**

He screamed.

He shrieked out shaking sobs as the nightmares dragged him deep into his lair, scratching at the ground and walls of the tunnel and searching for a handhold; something that could allow passage for escape. Just as he was able to snatch a handful of dirt and roots, a shower of splintered wood rained down on him, breaking his support and forcing him to submit to the will of the wicked mares.

He smashed into solid ground, his head crunching sickeningly against the stone floor as the mares swirled menacingly around him. He could barely see through a haze of confusion as he forced himself off the ground, swiping helplessly at the fearlings. His mind reeled, the circular motion of the black sand around him dizzying him further, and he pitched forward, smacking into the ground once again.

The fear was sapped from him as he accepted his fate. Death. Death would be upon him soon enough when the mares decided to rip him to shreds. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the cold concrete, needing to feel something before the imminent closure of his long, tedious life.

Death never came. The mares still swirled around him, snorting occasionally and thudding their hooves against the ground.

"Do it already you useless louts!" Pitch yelled, snapping his eyes open and glaring up at the cloud of sand. They regained form, transforming back into a group of dark mares. They still encircled him, but seemed uncertain about attacking, glancing at each other and then back at pitch. One whinnied, and then trotted off, dissipating into particles and vanishing into the shadows. One by one each of the mares followed, leaving pitch alone in the dark of his lair.

He rolled onto his back and sat up, glaring into the dark. How humiliating. This was the day he had been defeated by the guardians, who couldn't see fit to finish him off themselves, and now the very nightmares who had turned against him had decided against ending his dreadful life. Why delay the inevitable? He would fade into nonexistence soon enough.

Realization dawned on him though as he sat there grimacing into the dark. The nightmares could no longer sense the fear that he had held moments before because of his acceptance of fate.

He wasn't sure if he was lucky or not. Life or death didn't matter anymore in his eyes; he had been defeated, cast back into the shadows of children's memory, hidden away behind their wretched hope, wonder, dreams and fun. Such idle things… And yet they thwarted him so easily.

He righted himself, brushing traces of dirt off of his arms. Wretched guardians. How dare they steal his place in the world? How dare they shove him back into shadows, humiliating him and forgetting him? He could feel an ache welling up in his chest at the thought. He was to be forgotten again. The boogeyman, lost in time and memory.

He brought a hand up, covering his mouth and forcing the sob back down his throat. He would not cry over such a matter. He would take his place again. He would be remembered.

Pitch walked into a wall, through a shadow, and emerged in the main chamber of his lair, just in front of the model globe that spun with those sickening lights indicating the beliefs and joy of the children. He curled one hand into a fist, glaring at the horrid lights. "Damn guardians…" He muttered, pulling his fist back.

"Damn GUARDIANS!" his fist swung forward and smacked loudly into the globe, sending an echo bouncing off the numerous walls and staircases.

A lance of pain shot up his arm, and tears welled up in his golden eyes, threatening to spill over. "No…" He whispered, his voice breaking.

He would not cry. The king and lord of all darkness and fear would not be made weak and helpless. "No…"

He sunk to his knees, his injured hand dropping to his side. "No…" His voice was barely audible as the tears came, trickling over his gray cheeks and down his chin. He curled up right there, still on his knees, and sobbed. His whole body shook as he wept, the feeling of defeat and humiliation surging up inside him. Nonexistence. It would claim him soon.

**The guardian awakes**

The light of the morning filtered through the open window, tinting the back of my eyelids a strange pink. I let out a groan as consciousness crept upon me. Sleep was a wonderful thing, and I never wanted to awake, but the warmth of the sun upon my skin forced my eyes open.

Ah, yes. I had forgotten I was here.

My eyes shifted around the room and I sat up, stretching as I went. The night before, North had offered me a room at the pole. It was hidden away down a hallway that I had never seen before, and it was beautiful. The ceiling rose high above me, giving the whole room a towering feeling. The bed I'd been given sat against one wall, backed up against a wide stained glass window. The room was unfurnished, but I liked it. It had a light, thick white carpet and basic white walls; plain, and in my opinion, perfect.

I hopped out of bed, grabbing my favorite hoodie off the foot of it, and slipped it on. I snatched up my staff, twirled it once, and rested it comfortably on my shoulders, draping my hands over it. What did guardians do on off days? I mean, the other guardians and I had just saved the world; Easter was over; the holiday season was gone; and spring was coming.

A smile played on my lips. Being the prince of winter, I relished the cold and the snow, but springtime held a beauty all its own. I figured I'd go back to burgess, the place I once called home, and take some time to watch the world transform as the season changed.

I kicked off the ground, floating into the air, and blasted the door open. A little excessive, but I was in a damn good mood.

I flew out, twirling as I went, and burst into the massive workshop room. I could see North amongst a group of yetis, each of them babbling something incoherent at him. The work could never end for Santa, I guess. I slipped away, flying out through an open window grinning as the cold air hit my face. I had never been so proud to be Jack Frost. After yesterday's victory against the king of darkness, I was feeling pretty good.

I flew out over the ice caps and glaciers, calling on the wind to push me as far and fast as I could go, a grin plastered to my face. It was beautiful out here. The sun reflected off the ice in a smattering of crystalline color, and watched it all flash by as I whizzed high above it. I broke the cloud barrier, zooming high into the air where the atmosphere was thinnest. I loved this feeling.

It didn't take long for me to reach Burgess, and when I did, I dove straight into the middle of town, flipping right side up before landing on the head of the statue of the town founder. The snow was still sticking around, but only just. I could see it dripping off the trees and soaking into some parts of the ground. Ah well, winter couldn't last forever, no matter how much I wanted it to.

I floated down to the ground, shouldering my staff and walking straight into the road. I hopped from car to car, heading to the outskirts of town and straight for the lake. My lake. The lake that I had first woken up in and been chosen to be Jack Frost.

I rode the breeze the rest of the way and landed just on the edge of the still-frozen shore. Of course, the water in the middle of the lake was beginning to melt over, but I would soon fix that. I ran out to the middle, sliding my staff across the surface of the water. Lances of ice danced across it, freezing it over beautifully.

I stood back, grinning approvingly at my work when a strange sound hit my ears. It sounded like… crying. I glanced around for a moment, trying to locate the source of the sobbing. It sounded so distant, as if it were underground or in a cave…

Something dawned on me. Pitch.

The entrance to his lair was located somewhere around here, wasn't it? I kicked off the ice, flying into the air and scouring the ground with my eyes until I found it, tucked away behind a bush. It no longer had the broken looking bedframe over it, but it was definitely pitch's home. I could hear the rolling sobs now louder than ever, and I landed with my toes hanging over the edge of the hole.

I felt a sudden ache for him; almost like pity, but it was deeper than that. It was empathy. I knew how he felt, being invisible. As I stared down into the darkness, an internal conflict raged inside me. He was the enemy; the evil that the guardians had sworn to protect the children from… Although, I couldn't help feeling that I should somehow… try and comfort him.

I clenched my eyes shut, biting my lower lip, and then stepped over the edge, dropping into the seemingly endless darkness.


	2. Part 2, To the pole

**Hello again! I got a grand spanking total of ****two**** reviews! Hurray! Honestly, I had already gotten the next part to this story finished, so it was a matter of seeing whether or not people wanted to read it. Based on the number of views over the past hour, (41, wowee!), I decided I would continue this.**

**Please, feel free to leave a review! I am going for a goal of **_**five reviews**_** this time around in order to post my next section. The number will steadily increase as I get more readers, so beware! (I'm not shooting for the stars, am I? :D) If you would like to be my Beta reader (I lack one) Please make this known in a comment!**

**Anyways, story time!**

**The Prince of Winter and the King of Darkness**

It wasn't long before I found myself back in the black depths of Pitch's lair. The cries of anguish had long since ceased, and I would have worried that pitch had been alerted to my presence had I not been left in silence for so long. Pitch would have begun to taunt or tease me if he had known I was here… wouldn't he?

I clutched my staff with both hands, holding it protectively in front of my chest as I rounded the corner into the main chamber. I did not expect what I now saw.

Pitch was on his knees, his head resting in his hands, and he was crying silently. The king of fear… weeping right in front of me.

Again, my heart ached for him, though I was unsure whether or not I should approach.

"Pitch?" I asked, my voice low and uncertain.

His shoulders twitched slightly, as if he were startled by my presence, but he made no other motions to indicate that he knew I had spoken, or was even there.

I took a few slow steps towards him, holding my staff at the ready in case of attack. I cleared the distance in two shaky strides, and crouched down next to him, my eyes trained on his face, which was still buried in his hands.

"Leave me be, Frost."

His tone was low, tired. I realized that I couldn't possibly understand how he was feeling, since, though I had always been invisible to the children, I had never been cast away like he had. He seemed to have been in that same position for a while. Hours… Possibly since yesterday when the guardians and I had watched him get dragged away by the nightmares.

I released a shaky hand from my staff and placed it gently on his hunched shoulder, parting my lips slightly, unsure of what to say, and he cringed away from my touch, dropping sideways into a hunched sitting position, uncovering his face and shooting a glare at me. His golden irises were rimmed with red, and his eyes were puffy. So he _had_ been crying for a while.

"Pitch-"

"I said leave me be, brat." As he spoke, he stood, brushing the dirt from his arms. He cringed slightly when brushing his right one, but turned away to hide it. There was a tint of red on his cheeks that wasn't from crying. It was the flush of embarrassment. He was not happy that I had found him here in this state.

I stood as well, shouldering my staff with a frown.

"Why did you come here, Frost? Here to gloat?" He spat, glaring over his shoulder at me.

"No…" I began, my attention on his right appendage. "Pitch," I walked over to his side, a bit concerned, "What happened to your arm?"

He whirled away from me, clutching his arm and yelling, "I said leave me _BE, _Frost!" His voice echoed through the room and caused me to back up a step, startled.

We stood at odds for just a moment before I decided to break the silence. I was already down here after all; I could at least do something helpful, even if I was unable to comfort him. "Fine, just give me your arm first." I said, clearing the small distance between us and reaching towards him.

He backed away from me, his expression twisted into a defiant snarl, but then bumped straight into the giant globe. Trapped.

I grabbed his right arm (Which inspired a hiss from Pitch), and held it gently in both hands, examining it. Pitch was looking at his feet, again humiliated and angry.

I ran one hand along his gray skin, applying a light pressure and testing the bones, and then I felt it. Three of his finger bones had fractured right near the wrist, and when I compressed them, Pitch cringed, suppressing a hiss. "How did you break your hand?" I asked, not waiting for an answer before I cupped his hand gingerly between mine. My hands were cold, they would probably help the pain for just a moment, but I was no doctor, so I was unsure how else I could help.

Pitch seemed reluctant to answer my question, so I looked up at him. The light flush on his face had darkened, and he frowned when he caught me looking at him. "I was attacked by my fearlings, what do you expect?"

I ignored his remark, trying to think of a way to help mend his hand. "Maybe North could help-"

"No way, Frost. It's humiliating enough having _you_ down here… _holding my hand no less_," He snarled, snatched his hand away from mine, and cringed at the sudden movement. His voice was strained as he continued, "I'm not having your guardians…-"

"What, help you? Come on, pitch. You tried to help me once. Even though it wasn't exactly all about me, it was something." I replied, raising a brow.

Pitched stalked around the globe, stopped on the other side and crossed his arms. I almost laughed; he reminded me of a pouting child. I kicked off the ground, floated to the top of the globe and landed there, peering down at pitch with a bemused smile. "What could it hurt, honestly, besides your pride?" I asked him.

"You're very annoying, Frost."

"Answer my question."

Pitch hesitated, clenching his arms closer to him, as if thinking strained his whole body. When he finally replied, I was surprised. "Nothing, I guess."

He relented! I grinned and slid down the globe, landing beside pitch with an all-too-satisfied smile. He whirled around, glaring at me as he remarked, "Only to fix my hand, then I'm leaving."

I raised a conceding hand, indicating that I agreed to his terms, and shouldered my staff. "I happen to have one of North's snow globes here. Shall we be off then?" I asked, tempted to milk his surrender even further by hooking my arm around his. Instead, I dipped a hand into my pocket, pulling out a mini-sized snow globe.

"Fine, fine…" He muttered, re-crossing his arms. His pride was almost amusing.

Almost.

I shook the globe gently, stirring up the contents, and called out in an over-dramatic voice, "To the North Pole!"

A tiny version of the pole materialized inside, and I tossed it forward. It exploded into a wormhole, just big enough for a few people to walk through. "Here we go." I said, smiling at Pitch, who grimaced back, and then we both stepped forward, slipping into the portal and disappearing.


	3. Part 3, Possibly

**Hello my lovely, brilliant readers!  
I reached my five review quota! Wee~ I think for my next one I'll go for 10 reviews. That's not too much, yeah? I mean, I have about 390-something views. OOO:  
(I am still un-Beta'd, so bear with me and my plethora of typos until I can get a Beta :D)  
Anyways, here we go!**

**At the pole**

"HA_HA_! Phil, you're too funny." North's hearty laugh rang through the enormous workshop, and he whacked the immense yeti on the back enthusiastically. "You joke like no other my friend, come see me when you have another." A grin was planted firmly on his genial face. The yeti garbled something incoherent, and North nodded as he turned, preparing to head back up to his office. "Of course. Jack is probably out making mischie-" He cut off as a warp hole appeared only inches away from where he had been about to set his foot, and his smile faltered as two figures materialized before his eyes.

The voice that had resonated with such joy and amusement only moments before was now hard and stern. "Jack! What have you done?" He asked, rounding on Pitch with his fists clenched. Pitch looked as if he were about to turn tail and run straight back through the portal, but it disappeared before he had time to secure his escape. North was just about ready to grab pitch and heave him straight out a window when I stepped in front of him, my hands raised defensively.

"This looks a little weird, but-"

"Looks a little _weird?_ Jack, you used one of my snow globes to bring Pitch here, it's more than a little weird looking!"

I brought a hand up to rub the back of my neck. "Yeah, yeah, I know," I mumbled, an apologetic smile lifting the corners of my mouth. "I can explain it later… But Pitch needs his hand reset. He broke it."

North wore an incredulous expression as he glanced from me to Pitch and then back. "You… You can't be serious." He remarked, fixing his gaze back on Pitch. He seemed to examine him for a moment, his eyes resting momentarily on the hand that Pitch cradled. Pitch glared back at North, clearly unhappy about the whole situation.

"There is no other way to fix hand?" North asked, watching Pitch warily with his fists still clenched.

That's when Pitch spoke up, his voice low and annoyed. "I can't exactly walk into a hospital, now can I?"

Pitch's comment seemed to tip the balance, and North exploded into an unexpected bout of laughter –to which Pitch flushed and shot a glare at the back of my head-. It seemed North was back in good spirits, which meant he may help.

"Do you know anything about healing, North?" I asked, a reassured smile playing at my lips. North calmed a bit at my comment, and nodded, wiping away an invisible tear. "Of course, I've been living at pole for centuries; I've had to learn a trick or two with clumsy yetis all over the place." He replied, and Phil huffed, stalking off between an aisle of toys.

Whilst I was relieved by North's willingness to help, when I turned to look at Pitch, I could see that he was disheartened by the fact. He wore an almost dead-looking grimace. I lifted a hand to cover my mouth. Again, he looked like a pouting child.

"Now, now, Pitch. It's not the end of world. Let me see hand." North said, pushing me a bit gruffly out of his line of sight and extending a hand towards Pitch. I watched the exchange, almost amused. Pitch reluctantly offered his broken hand up to North, who took it, examining it in a much rougher manner than I had. Pitch cringed and hung his head as North tilted the hand this way and that. "You broke hand punching something, no?" North asked, feeling the bones in a gentler manner. "Jack must have done something very annoying." North's tone was light, joking.

"You think he punched me?" I asked with a laugh. "There's not a mark on my beautiful face."

Pitch's eyes shifted to me and my smile faltered a bit. His expression was something… strange. Agreement? When he realized that I noticed him, he flushed and looked back down at the ground. That was a look I had never seen on Pitch's face, and it puzzled me quite a bit. It wasn't just agreement… what was it…Admiration? At that thought my stomach flipped uncomfortably. Weird.

"I punched the globe." Pitch admitted in a quiet voice, focusing his gaze back on the hand that North was still examining.

"Ah, you have some temper Pitch. But this is not broken." North replied. He pressed his thumb to Pitch's palm, holding the heel of Pitch's hand in his other, and then squeezed, pushing his thumb up into the palm with an audible _SNAP. _Pitch yelped loudly and he yanked away, rubbing the sore spot on his hand with tears welling up around the corners of his eyes.

"Damnit, that _hurt."_ He snarled with a shaky voice.

"Well of course. It should be fine now if we wrap it. It was just dislocated." North replied, grinning. He turned and walked towards the elevator that would take him up to the next level. "I will be back with a brace and some gauze. Watch him, Jack!" He called over his shoulder. "He is a tricky one!" Then he was gone, lifted away out of sight.

I traipsed over to one of the tables and sat comfortably on it, then leaned on my staff, watching Pitch as he examined the room.

"How does your hand feel?" I asked in a quiet voice.

"Fine." He replied, glaring at everything but me.

I raised a brow at his short answer. He seemed to be avoiding my gaze. I hopped off my perch and walked over to him, tilting myself so I was in his line of sight. "I know it's not your cup of tea to ask for help, but-"

"No, Frost. It's not. And it's certainly not… right to ask help of your enemies."

His eyes didn't look mean or angry anymore. In fact, he looked almost tired. Again the word 'defeated' came to mind. He wasn't just defeated in the sense that the guardians had overcome him. He looked like he felt defeated inside. Lifeless.

"We don't… have to be enemies…" I mumbled, biting my lower lip. What was I saying?! This was Pitch Black; the Boogeyman; the Lord of darkness! What would the guardians think if they knew I was proposing friendship, or anything besides pure unadulterated hatred? Although something inside me longed to help him.

Something he had said days ago snapped into my memory. _'I don't know what it's like to be cast out; not to be believed in! to long for… a family…'_

That's what he had said as I attacked him on the tip of an iceberg just a few miles away from here. Who's to say those were lies? Who's to say he didn't actually feel lonely and need some sort of connection?

Pitch was silent for a long time, and he turned away, leaving me to stare at the back of his head.

"Will you at least think about it?" I asked, prodding the small of his back. He flinched away and then glanced back at me. His face was still slightly flushed, and his expression was… what, hopeful?

"Possibly."


End file.
